


malum prompt fics

by softirwin



Series: tumblr prompt fics [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, i dont rememberw hich ones but i'm certain theres some weed n booze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: bunch of prompt fics i've written on tumblr and never crossposted because i'm lazy
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: tumblr prompt fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982899
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. spending a quiet moment together

**Author's Note:**

> these are not new fics you will probably be pleased to know these are simply old prompt fics/drabbles/things that i have uploaded ? that i'm now finally crossposting to ao3 i'm NOT posting the ones i wrote in 2014 if you want those you will have to go digging but you don't want them i'm honestly doing you a favour here
> 
> yes i should be doing my work yes i am behind yes i have an essay due in under a week that i havent even picked a question for yet let alone started on the reading for we're out here vibing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael thinks he can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a moment to himself on tour, ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “peace” and i’ll write a drabble about them spending a quiet moment together

Michael thinks he can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a moment to himself on tour, ever. 

Once backstage in Zürich, when he’d found a dimly-lit corridor that seemed to have been forgotten about; once on the bus in Copenhagen, when everyone else had gone on a night out; once in Louisville, when he’d thought soundcheck was at eleven, not at three; and now, in Perth, in a tucked away alcove of the arena that he’d found last time but not had the opportunity to pause in. 

He’s sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the wall as he lets the silence wash over him, eyes closed to really savour it. He’s revelling in the _nothingness_ , the lack of noise, the absence of clatter and buzz and fuss that’s occupied his mind for the past three months. It might not give him the peace he’s been missing since leaving home, but it’s the best sound he’s heard since dragging himself off the plane and onto the bus twelve weeks ago. 

“Hey,” he hears, quiet and calm, and he mentally amends his earlier thought. Silence is the second best sound he’s heard in the past three months, after Calum’s voice. 

“Hi,” he says, not moving at all. He hears a movement to his left, and suddenly his side is warm, a thigh pressed against his, an arm slipping around his waist. Michael pushes himself off the wall slightly to make way for Calum’s arm, letting it wrap around Michael’s waist and pull him close, shuffling towards Calum and resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. Calum hums, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head, and Michael smiles. 

Calum says nothing else for a while, like he knows that Michael just needs a moment to himself, a minute to reset. He just holds Michael close, arm strong and safe around his waist, keeping him grounded in the silence of the alcove. 

After a long while, when his breathing has evened out to match Calum’s, when his heartbeat has slowed to a steady, rhythmic thud, when the silence and Calum have swirled together to settle in Michael’s stomach, Michael opens his eyes. 

“Hi,” he mumbles again, and Calum tugs at his waist. Michael knows what he means, so he lifts himself up enough to sit down in Calum’s lap, curling up and tucking his face into Calum’s neck. It’s warm and it’s Calum, nutmeg and jasmine spinning through Michael’s mind. Michael presses a kiss to Calum’s neck, relishing the way it makes him shiver. 

“It’s quiet here,” Calum murmurs, sliding his hand along Michael’s arm until he reaches his hand, slipping his fingers in between Michael’s. 

“Mm,” Michael hums, pressing a kiss to Calum’s jaw. “I haven’t had a moment to myself in ages.” He doesn’t need to say that Calum doesn’t count, that Calum is a part of Michael. Calum knows, because Michael is a part of him.

“Peaceful,” Calum says, leaning down to look at Michael, and his eyes are warm. 

“Mm,” Michael says again, pressing a kiss to Calum’s lips. “Now that you’re here.” 

Calum smiles, catching Michael as he pulls away, and kisses him again. 

It says _I love you too_.


	2. making the other promise that they will stay with them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finally understands the meaning of ‘be careful what you wish for’ when he’s twenty years old. 
> 
> It doesn’t really hit him, not until then, that what they are now is famous. It’s not until the Rolling Stone article comes out and he sees the backlash, sees the disappointment and sees the impact that their words now have that he realises. 
> 
> And, in true Michael form, he panics. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “stay” and i’ll write a drabble about one character making the other promise that they will stay with them

Michael finally understands the meaning of ‘be careful what you wish for’ when he’s twenty years old. 

It doesn’t really hit him, not until then, that what they are now is _famous_. It’s not until the Rolling Stone article comes out and he sees the backlash, sees the disappointment and sees the impact that their words now have that he realises. 

And, in true Michael form, he panics. 

Michael does three things when he panics. Firstly, he does those breathing exercises his therapist taught him, tries to stop himself hyperventilating. Secondly, he gets himself somewhere safe, usually cocooning himself up in bed where nobody can find or touch him. 

Thirdly, he calls Calum. 

“It’s four in the fucking morning, Mike,” Calum says, sleepy and annoyed, but he’s picked up after two rings so Michael knows he doesn’t mean it. 

“I need you,” Michael says, small and frightened. His breathing’s starting to get laboured again, and he hears rustling at the other end of the phone line. 

“Shit, okay,” Calum says, suddenly fully alert. “Are you at home?” Michael nods, even though Calum can’t see him. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Calum says, a whooshing sound on his end of the line as he presumably runs down the stairs. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, Mikey, hold on, okay?” Michael nods again, not trusting himself to speak without his lungs giving in, and he hears the sound of a car door slam. 

Calum stays on the phone to him as he drives, neither of them speaking, Michael because he can’t and Calum because he knows Michael needs silence but needs to not be alone in it. It’s only six minutes until he hears the engine cut out on Calum’s end of the line and then the sound of Calum unlocking his door with the key Michael gave him before he even got his own one. 

Michael’s bedroom door bursts open about thirty seconds later, and Calum’s standing in the doorway, blonde hair all messed up from sleep, dressed in a grey hoodie and pyjama bottoms, a crease between his brows. 

“Hey,” he says, and Michael rolls over to make room for Calum, who takes the hint and gets straight into bed, holding out his arms for Michael. Michael tucks himself into Calum’s chest and Calum’s arms close around him, strong, safe, home. Michael lets out a shaky exhale, and feels the fluttering in his chest subside a little. 

They lie there for a while, Calum stroking Michael’s hair, Michael focusing on evening out his breathing, slowing down his heart, until he finally trusts himself to speak. 

“Hi,” he says, and Calum relaxes a little, because it means Michael’s going to be okay. 

“Hey,” Calum says again, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head. “What happened?” Michael shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. 

“The article,” he mumbles into Calum’s chest, gnawing at his thumbnail. Calum sighs. 

“Oh, Mikey,” he says, and he sounds sad and strained, like it’s somehow his fault Michael’s freaking out. _It’s not_ , Michael wants to say, _it’s never you_ , but what comes out instead is: 

“Everybody hates us.” Calum’s fingers flutter to the nape of Michael’s neck, twisting through the hair there. 

“No, they don’t,” he says, calm and rational. 

“I hate us.” Calum sighs again, heavy and hard, and Michael immediately feels guilty. 

“No, you don’t,” Calum says. 

“They’re all going to leave,” Michael says. He swallows. “I- they hate me. They’re going to leave me.” Calum pulls Michael closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“They’re not,” Calum says. Michael wraps an arm around Calum’s waist, his heart thudding in Michael’s ears. 

“Stay,” Michael says, and he hopes Calum knows what he means. Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next year, ten years from now. 

“Forever,” Calum says, and it’s so sincere that it makes Michael’s heart burst. 

“Promise?” _I love you_.

“I promise.” _I love you too_.


	3. the aftermath of a bad fight / “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Calum wishes technology didn’t exist. 
> 
> Sometimes it’s because he wants to be able to disconnect, hates the anxiety that builds up at the fact that he knows people think he’s always reachable, that he can’t ever truly detach himself from the world. Sometimes, it’s because he thinks it’s bad for him, bad for his mental health, seeing all the comments and feeling the pressure to keep up interacting with people and posting on a regular basis.
> 
> Mostly, though, it’s because Michael’s eyes have been glued to a screen since 2005. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the aftermath of a bad fight / “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

Sometimes, Calum wishes technology didn’t exist. 

Sometimes it’s because he wants to be able to disconnect, hates the anxiety that builds up at the fact that he knows people think he’s always reachable, that he can’t ever truly detach himself from the world. Sometimes, it’s because he thinks it’s bad for him, bad for his mental health, seeing all the comments and feeling the pressure to keep up interacting with people and posting on a regular basis.

Mostly, though, it’s because Michael’s eyes have been glued to a screen since 2005. 

“Mike,” he says, for about the twentieth time. “Are you nearly done?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, in that absent-minded tone that means he didn’t listen to what Calum said at all. 

“How long are you going to be?” 

“Like, five minutes, Cal, chill,” Michael says, staring intently at the screen. 

“You said that fifteen minutes ago,” Calum says pointedly. 

“Well, I mean it this time,” Michael says. Calum feels a flare of annoyance rise in his chest at the fucking nonchalance with which Michael’s treating this situation. 

“Michael, I-” he starts, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Jesus Christ, Cal, I said I’d be five minutes,” he says irritably, and the flare of annoyance turns into embarrassment and anger. 

“What the fuck?” Calum demands. “Michael, it’s our _date night_ , in case you’ve fucking forgotten. We have a reservation at a restaurant in _twenty minutes_.” 

“It takes ten to drive there,” Michael says, sounding irked, like he’d rather be sat at home playing fucking Valorant than going out with Calum. Knowing Michael, Calum thinks acidly, he probably would. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Calum says angrily. “Mike, I got all dressed up to go out, and I’ve just been sat here watching you play Valorant for half an hour.” 

“Well, go sit in the fucking bedroom, then you won’t have to watch me,” Michael snipes. 

“I’m being fucking serious, Michael,” Calum snaps. “Is our relationship just a massive fucking joke to you?” 

“What, because I want to play the last five minutes of my game I suddenly don’t love you?” Michael asks, _finally_ spinning around in his chair to face Calum. “Is that what this is? Your fucking ego needs a stroke?” Calum stands up so fast his vision swims. 

“Fuck you,” he says, calm and cool, grabs his coat, and walks out of the room. 

_Fuck_ Michael, he thinks darkly, as he grabs his car keys off the table. He fires off a quick text to Ashton that just says the address of the restaurant and to get there now, and Ashton responds within seconds with a thumbs up emoji. 

Yeah. Fuck Michael. 

-

Calum spends most of the dinner with Ashton seething silently, but Ashton lets him, and he loves him for it. He only makes one comment, when Ashton gives him a look as his phone lights up and both of them see Michael’s name flashing on the screen, and Calum turns it off. 

“What?” he says defensively, seeing the look on Ashton’s face. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, but The Look doesn’t go away. 

“It’s date night,” Calum says, “and he’s playing Valorant.” The Look turns into one of sympathy, and Ashton nods, but he doesn’t say anything, because he knows Calum will share more if he wants to. He doesn’t, so Ashton moves the conversation along, telling him how he broke his snare the other day and what a fucking pain it is trying to get another one, and Calum sends him a small smile, hoping he knows what it means. 

Calum feels a lot calmer by the time he actually gets home at around ten, after a few hours with Ashton. He’s still pissed off, but more tiredly so, and he just wants to ignore Michael for the rest of the evening and go to bed. He’s not up for having a massive fight about it all over again. 

The house is dark when he pushes the door open, and he thinks bitterly for a moment that Michael’s probably still in the office playing fucking Valorant. Then, however, he notices flickering on the walls of the kitchen, and immediately panics, thinking Michael’s tried to cook himself dinner and set the fucking house on fire. He kicks the door shut behind him and rushes through to the kitchen, ready to - actually, he doesn’t really know what he’s ready to do, spit on the fucking fire? - and skids to a halt as soon as he makes it into the room. 

There are, like, seventy fucking candles arranged in a slightly wonky heart on the table, which is what’s causing the flickering light on the walls, and there’s a plate in the middle with what looks like the world’s biggest chocolate brownie on it. 

“What the-” Calum starts, staring at the sight in front of him, and then cuts himself off as he hears a shuffling to his right. 

“Hi,” Michael says, sounding nervous, and looking like he might cry. 

“What is this?” Calum says, halfway between confused and tired. Michael is not really the person he wants to see right now. 

“Uh,” Michael says, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m. I’m really sorry. About earlier, I mean.” Calum closes his eyes and sighs deeply. 

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it tonight,” he says, because frankly, he’s still kind of hurt and upset and he’s not sure he can make it through that whole conversation without yelling or crying. 

“I know,” Michael says. “I just.” He shrugs, and pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“And that’s what this is?” Calum says, eyeing the table warily. “Setting fire to the fucking house and buying me a brownie?” 

“No, I-” Michael looks embarrassed, and Calum kind of feels bad. That was uncalled for. “I baked it.” 

And, okay, what?

“You what?” Calum says, not entirely sure he heard that right. Maybe he said he _faked_ it, like, bought it from a shop and took it out of the packet to pretend he made it himself. 

“I baked it,” Michael repeats. “I figured you’d gone out to eat anyway and I know you never order dessert in restaurants because they’re never chocolatey enough for you.” 

Calum tries not to let his heart thaw a little at that, but honestly, it’s difficult. Michael standing there, looking nervous but earnest, having baked Calum a fucking brownie because he knows exactly how Calum likes them and also that Calum never eats dessert in restaurants for that specific reason, hits Calum like a fucking metric ton of bricks. 

“Christ, Mikey,” he says, and it comes out softer than he’d intended. “You didn’t have to do all this.” 

“I did,” Michael says, “because I was a dick. Worse than a dick. I got caught up in my game, and I was being selfish. I didn’t think about what picking Valorant over date night might mean to you.” Calum can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, a little melancholy, a little amused. 

“You’re a dick,” he agrees sadly. 

“I know,” Michael mumbles. “It’s not because I don’t love you. I love you more than I could ever fucking tell you. If you want me to stop playing, I’ll stop playing.” 

“No, you won’t,” Calum says wearily. 

“I will,” Michael says earnestly. “It’s just a game, Cal. It’s just a bit of fun. You’re everything else.” Calum’s lips quirk up in a small smile, despite himself. 

“I don’t want you to give up things you enjoy,” he says. “I just don’t want you to choose them over me on date night.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and he sounds guilty. “I- fuck. I really am sorry. I know I fucked up. You’re more important to me than anything, and I never want you to feel like you’re second place to anything again.” Calum’s smiling properly now, heart almost fully softened. 

“So you baked me a brownie?” he says. Michael nods. 

“It took me three tries,” he says. “I had to make sure it was just right.” 

That’s it. Calum’s heart is officially back in Michael’s hands. 

“C’mere,” Calum says, and it’s what Michael’s been waiting for, almost breaking into a jog in his haste to cross the room and fling himself at Calum. Calum stumbles backwards a little before steadying himself, burying his face in Michael’s shoulder and breathing him in. 

“‘M sorry,” Michael says, muffled by Calum’s shoulder. 

“Good,” Calum says. “I can’t believe you baked me a fucking brownie, Jesus Christ.” 

“Three,” Michael reminds him. “But the other two weren’t perfect.” Calum pulls Michael closer, as close as he can get without, like, melding into Calum. 

“You’re a fucking romantic when you want to be,” he murmurs. “I’m lucky to have you.” 

“Good,” Michael says, and he sounds a little wobbly, “because you’re stuck with me, like it or not.” Calum smiles, and presses a kiss to Michael’s shoulder. 

They stand like that for a moment, holding each other tight and both trying not to cry, until Calum remembers something.

“Where’d you get all the fucking candles?” he asks, and Michael laughs, but it comes out as a sob. 

“I’d do fucking anything for you, Cal,” Michael says, sincere and a little choked. He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Including but not limited to blackmailing our neighbours for all of their candles.” 

Calum laughs too, and pretends the dampness on Michael’s shoulder was there all along. 


	4. finally home after a hard day / “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end to a hard day’s work for Michael and Calum is a little different to most people. 
> 
> Most people get home at six or seven, kick off their shoes, cook a quick dinner, then settle down to watch TV. Michael and Calum get home at around two a.m., often stopping at a McDonald’s on the way home because neither of them can be bothered to cook, and usually ends in half an hour of Calum trying to coax Michael to get changed and not fall asleep on the sofa in his clothes. 
> 
> Sometimes, though, only one of them is needed at the studio. Tonight is one of those nights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: finally home after a hard day / “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

The end to a hard day’s work for Michael and Calum is a little different to most people. 

Most people get home at six or seven, kick off their shoes, cook a quick dinner, then settle down to watch TV. Michael and Calum get home at around two a.m., often stopping at a McDonald’s on the way home because neither of them can be bothered to cook, and usually ends in half an hour of Calum trying to coax Michael to get changed and not fall asleep on the sofa in his clothes. 

Sometimes, though, only one of them is needed at the studio. Tonight is one of those nights. 

Calum likes to wait up for Michael anyway, even though he could technically get an early night, because he likes the twenty minutes of sleepy conversation he can get out of Michael before he falls asleep mid-sentence on Calum’s chest. He’s even made Michael dinner, sticking it in the oven to keep it warm when Michael texts at half past one that he’s on his way home. 

At quarter to two, Calum hears the front door click, and sets his book to one side, waiting for Michael to come into the living room. There’s a minute of shuffling - Michael’s actually taking off his shoes, Calum notes with approval - and then the living room door swings open. 

“Hi,” Calum says, with a smile, because even though he’s spent the last eighteen years with Michael, he still always looks forward to seeing him after more than a few hours apart. 

“Hi,” Michael says, and he sounds absolutely exhausted. He crosses the room in two strides and throws himself on Calum’s lap, curling up tightly on his chest. Calum frowns, wrapping his arms around Michael and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“What’s up?” he murmurs. Michael shrugs, but the movement is tiny, like he doesn’t have the energy to do it properly. 

“Luke made me re-record the lead, like, fifty billion times,” he mumbles, curling his fist in Calum’s shirt. Calum doesn’t have the heart to tell him not to do it, it’ll stretch the shirt out. 

“You know what he’s like,” Calum says with a sigh, bringing one hand up to thread through Michael’s hair and stroke it softly. 

“I know,” Michael says, but his voice is kind of small. 

“What?” Michael shrugs, another micro-movement. “C’mon, Mikey. Your dinner’s in the oven, I don’t want it to go cold.” 

“You made me dinner?” 

“Pasta bake,” Calum says. There’s a pause.

“I love you,” Michael says, somehow both soft and fervent. Calum smiles, and kisses Michael’s temple. 

“I know,” he says. “Now, d’you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” 

“‘S stupid,” Michael says. 

“It’s not stupid if it upset you,” Calum says patiently. Michael likes to be coaxed. 

“Just don’t feel like he thinks I’m good enough,” Michael says. Calum sighs as his heart breaks a little, arm tightening around Michael. 

“You’re better than good enough, Mikey,” he says. 

“Well, not to Luke,” Michael says, a touch petulant. 

“That’s not true,” Calum says. “He pushes you because he knows you can do better than you think you can.” 

“I can’t,” Michael says. Calum frowns. 

“Mikey,” he says, and Michael looks up at him, sea-green eyes blinking behind inky lashes. “Stop it. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re amazing at what you do - writing, singing, and playing. You’re a wonderful guitarist - you’re _incredibly_ talented. I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.” 

Michael’s silent for a moment, just looking up at Calum. After a while, he smiles, tired eyes lighting up, soft and fond. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Calum’s jawline. 

“You’re pretty good at sucking dick,” Calum says, and Michael laughs, a low buzz that Calum feels in his entire body. 

“Fuck you,” he says, but he’s smiling. 

“If you want,” Calum says, grinning. 

“Can I have my dinner first?” Michael asks. 

“If you must,” Calum says, but Michael makes no move to get up, just blinks up at Calum innocently. It takes Calum a moment, but then it dawns on him, and he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Fine, you dickhead. I’ll get your dinner.” He tips Michael out of his lap, and he immediately curls up on the sofa as Calum stands up. 

“Love you,” Michael calls as Calum walks out of the room. 

“You’d better,” Calum shouts back, and he hears Michael laugh tiredly, and thinks it’s the best sound he’s heard all day. 


	5. something one character finds cute about the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s this about?” Calum asks. Michael huffs, and shifts onto his side, nestling into Calum. 
> 
> “I’m hideous,” he says pointedly. Calum rolls his eyes. 
> 
> “Next time, just say you want me to compliment you,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “cute” and i’ll write a drabble about something one character finds cute about the other

“Alright,” Michael announces, a little huffily, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Calum. “That’s it.”

“Okay,” Calum says agreeably. Michael frowns. 

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” he says, a little accusing, like he can’t believe Calum would just agree with him without an ulterior motive. He’s right. 

“Well, I’m assuming I’m about to get a whole whiny monologue about it,” Calum says breezily, leaning back and stretching. “Go on. Wait, should I go to the toilet first?” Michael scowls at him. 

“Fuck you,” he says sulkily, and Calum can’t help but laugh. Antagonising Michael is his favourite quarantine hobby. 

“No, go on,” Calum says, winding an arm around Michael’s waist and pulling him close. Michael pouts, but lets himself be pulled. 

“No,” he says, but he rests his head on Calum’s shoulder, so Calum knows he’s just being a bitch about it. Calum waits, and Michael lasts about ten more seconds before he breaks. “I’m never smiling with teeth again.” 

“What’s this about?” Calum asks. Michael huffs, and shifts onto his side, nestling into Calum. 

“I’m _hideous_ ,” he says pointedly. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Next time, just say you want me to compliment you,” he says. Michael flicks Calum on the arm, which, fucking ow. “Ow, you dickhead.” 

“Don’t say I’m fishing for compliments, then,” Michael says. 

“You are.”

“Yeah, but don’t say it.” Calum can’t help but laugh at that, and he feels Michael’s cheeks rise up in a grin against his shoulder. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you think is wrong with your teeth,” Calum says, shaking his head. “You look adorable when you smile. Makes me want to kiss you. I mean, I want to kiss you all the time, but when you smile, _really_ smile, and your eyes are all crinkled on the corners, you’re like…lit up? Like, you just radiate happiness, and it just makes everyone gravitate towards you. You have one of those infectious smiles, because you’re just lit up from within, like you’re glowing.” He pauses, searching for his next words.

“Keep going,” Michael says, and Calum snorts. 

“Not with that attitude,” he says. Michael huffs, but Calum can hear the smile behind it, and he shifts closer to Calum, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“One of the best feelings in the world is seeing you smile and knowing it’s because of me,” Calum says after a moment of thought. “Sometimes it’s because I’ve told a joke that you think is funny, or because I’ve said something that’s made you happy. But the best smile, my favourite smile, is when you look at me and you just…smile. When I don’t do anything, and you smile anyway. Sometimes you do it when you think I’m not looking. You’ll just look over and smile, light up.” 

“Bit self-absorbed,” Michael remarks. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“You wanted compliments,” he says pointedly. Michael makes a little noise of indignance, but doesn’t retort. “I think it’s because whenever you smile, it’s because of love. Because you love a joke, because you love a compliment, because you love me. I’ve never met anyone who loves as much and as hard as you do, and you can see that in your smile.” 

“I do love you,” Michael agrees, snuggling closer to Calum and pressing a kiss to his jawline. Calum’s skin tingles at the contact, long after Michael’s settled back on his shoulder. 

“I love you too,” Calum says, pressing a kiss to Michael’s forehead and ruffling his hair. “Am I done now?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, but he makes no move to get up. Instead, he holds his hand out, fingers splayed, and Calum slots his fingers in between Michael’s. 

“Nothing makes me smile as much as you,” Michael says after a moment. Calum grins, feeling a warm sensation spread out from his core. 

“I know.” 


	6. one character realising they love the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum’s seven when he realises he likes Michael. 
> 
> They’re not friends, per se, but he sees Michael at the sandpit sometimes, and throws a smile in his direction. Michael always smiles back, bright and brilliant, and it makes Calum happy. 
> 
> That’s all he needs to know to know he likes Michael. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: send me a “realise” and i’ll write a drabble about one character realising they love the other

Calum’s seven when he realises he likes Michael. 

They’re not friends, per se, but he sees Michael at the sandpit sometimes, and throws a smile in his direction. Michael always smiles back, bright and brilliant, and it makes Calum happy. 

That’s all he needs to know to know he likes Michael. 

-

Calum’s twelve when he realises he really likes Michael. 

They’re best friends now, and Calum goes to Michael’s house after school every day, and they sit on Michael’s bed and play guitar. Or rather, Michael plays guitar, and Calum watches, captivated by the way Michael frowns when he’s trying to get a particular chord right. When he’s finished, he’ll look up at Calum and smile, bright and brilliant, and it makes Calum happy. 

That’s all he needs to know to know he really likes Michael. 

-

Calum’s seventeen when he realises he kind of loves Michael. 

They’ve been best friends for years, and now they’re in a band, a pretty fucking good band, and they’re on tour. It’s exhausting, sleepless nights and restless days, but it’s okay, because Calum’s got Michael. He’ll tuck himself into Calum’s side without asking, flinging an arm across Calum’s stomach and sighing dramatically before launching into a story about what idiotic thing Luke’s done today, while Calum traces shapes absent-mindedly with his fingertips across Michael’s forearm. Michael will look up at Calum as he’s speaking and smile, bright and brilliant, and it makes Calum happy. 

That’s all he needs to know to know he kind of loves Michael. 

\- 

Calum’s twenty when he realises he’s in love with Michael. 

It’s stupid, really, that he never noticed it before. He blames it on the ridiculous touring schedule, the way they’ve grown up all wrong - if they’d been at uni, he tells himself, he would have figured it out much faster. On the road, it’s hard to separate emotions from exhaustion, to separate love from loneliness. 

He realises one night when Michael’s curled up on his chest, tracing shapes over Calum’s heart. 

“Stop it,” Calum mumbles, but makes no move to slap Michael’s hand away. “Your hands are cold.” 

“I can’t help that,” Michael says, letting his fingers dance down Calum’s torso to his stomach and making Calum shiver. 

“Well, don’t make it my problem,” Calum says, but he pulls Michael closer anyway. Michael lets himself be pulled, nosing into Calum’s neck and letting his arm fall so it’s wrapped loosely around Calum’s waist. 

“You’re a dick,” Michael says, matter-of-fact. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, with a grin, and he feels Michael scowl against his neck. 

They lie in silence for a while, chests rising and falling together, hearts beating in sync. Michael’s hand finds Calum’s and he threads their fingers together, and Calum squeezes it almost absent-mindedly. He’s never as content as he is when he’s lying like this with Michael, as close as they can get. 

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Michael mumbles, like he can read Calum’s mind. Calum swears he can, sometimes. 

“I know,” Calum says, and he means _me too_. Michael sighs, breath hot on Calum’s neck, and Calum shivers. 

“What, was that too hot?” Michael says sarcastically. 

“Are you, like, physically capable of being nice to me?” Calum asks. 

“I’m nice to you all the time,” Michael says, pushing himself up on his elbow and glaring at Calum with a pout. Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“You’re cute when you pout,” he says. Michael’s pout immediately transforms into a smile, bright and brilliant, and it makes Calum happy. 

But it also makes his heart flutter, and his stomach flip, and his palms sweat, and it conjures up images of kissing Michael, of holding Michael’s hand, of running away to Vegas and having a shotgun wedding that Luke and Ashton would yell at them about for, like, the next decade. 

Oh. 

That’s all he needs to know to know that he’s in love with Michael. 

-

Michael’s twenty-two when Calum tells him he’s in love with him. 

They’re watching TV together, some trash daytime show that just happened to be on and Michael’s somehow got incredibly invested in. 

“I don’t fucking get it,” he says, for what may possibly be the thirtieth time in as many minutes. “Like, why the fuck would she pick _Brad_?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Calum mutters, somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Was my answer the previous nine hundred times not clear enough? Should I change it from ‘I don’t know’ to ‘I _really_ don’t know’?” Michael makes a noise of outrage. 

“It’s just so fucking _stupid_ ,” he says hotly, folding his arms and throwing himself back on the sofa. “I just don’t get why when Leo is _right there_ you’d go for _Brad_? Brad’s already gone behind her back, like, three times. And he’s not even hot! Leo’s at _least_ a nine, and Brad’s, like a four at best.” He huffs in annoyance, throwing Calum a glance because he expects _some_ kind of a reaction to his outburst. Calum, however, is just staring at him.

“I love you,” he says. 

“I know,” Michael says, still cross. Calum blinks, and swallows. His hands are balled into fists, and his chest is rising and falling a little too fast.

“No,” he says, and he sounds nervous now. “I love you.”

“Uh,” Michael says, because he does actually have ears. “I know.” 

“No,” Calum says again, sounding like he’s about to throw up. “I- I’m in love with you.” Michael looks at him like he’s insane. 

“Cal, I know,” he says. Calum opens his mouth, and then closes it again. 

“Oh,” he says, and Michael cocks his head. 

“You know I’m in love with you too, right?” he says curiously. Calum blinks. 

“No,” he says, nonplussed. 

“Well, I am,” Michael says. “You seriously think I’m sucking your dick for fun? As a favour? To be polite?” A small smile starts to unfurl on Calum’s lips.

“Oh,” he says quietly, and his eyes are lit up with something radiant that Michael’s only seen in him a few times before - when they were seven, playing in the sandpit; when they were twelve, sat on Michael’s bed; when they were seventeen, cuddling together on tour; when they were twenty, and Michael was tracing hearts on Calum’s chest.

Calum smiles at him, brilliant and bright, and it makes Michael’s heart burst with happiness and love. 


	7. "want some company?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum knows how this goes. 
> 
> He’ll be doing something - playing bass, writing a song, playing a game - and Michael will sidle into the room, all faux-intrigue and nonchalance. 
> 
> “What are you doing?” he’ll say. 
> 
> “Writing,” Calum will say, or, “playing”. 
> 
> “Want some company?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "want some company?"

Calum knows how this goes. 

He’ll be doing something - playing bass, writing a song, playing a game - and Michael will sidle into the room, all faux-intrigue and nonchalance. 

“What are you doing?” he’ll say. 

“Writing,” Calum will say, or, “playing”. 

“Want some company?” 

It’s pretty much inevitable, at this point. Calum will go into his room, or his studio, or the kitchen, and no more than twenty minutes later, Michael will follow. 

It’s been seventeen-and-a-half since Calum had decided if he didn’t make dinner right now they’d be forced to order yet another pizza, and he finds himself grinning into the creamy peppercorn sauce he’s stirring when he hears the door click open softly behind him. Michael runs like clockwork when it comes to Calum. 

“Hey,” Michael says. 

“Hi,” Calum says. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Cooking.” 

“Want some company?” Michael never hears the edge of hopefulness in his own voice, but it rings loud and clear to Calum.

“Sure.” Calum can never say no to Michael. 

Michael grins at him, all crinkled eyes and pretty lips, and hops up onto one of the bar stools at the table behind Calum and swings his legs out. 

“Smells good,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. Calum loves when Michael wears his glasses. 

“‘Course it does,” Calum says, throwing a glance over at the meatballs in the oven. “I’m cooking it.” 

“Like that means anything,” Michael says. “Remember when you sent a three foot flame up while making pancakes?” 

“Pancakes are baking,” Calum says dismissively, checking on the pasta. “This is cooking.” 

“I don’t think pancakes are baking,” Michael says. “Baking involves an oven.” 

“So I’m baking these meatballs?” Calum says sceptically, nodding at the oven. Michael scowls. 

“Alright, so I haven’t got a solid grasp of the English language, fuck you,” he grumbles. “But at least I can make pancakes without setting the house on fire.” 

“That was _one time_ ,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “And anyway, you’re not one to start throwing stones about cooking. You tried to cook pasta without water in the pot.” 

“Pancakes are baking, though,” Michael says, grinning, and squeals as Calum flicks hot peppercorn sauce at him. 

“Did you come here just to insult me, or what?” Calum asks, turning the heat off the pasta and heading to the sink to drain it. 

“Cooking’s boring,” Michael says, too casual. “I thought you might want my company. I’m generous like that.” 

Calum grins into the steam from the pasta condensing on his face. 

“You know you can just say you want to hang out with me, right?” he says, dividing the pasta roughly between the two plates he’d set out. Michael scowls. 

“I would if I wanted to hang out with you,” he says, “but I don’t. I’m here as a favour.” Calum rolls his eyes, still grinning, turning down the heat on the sauce before spinning around to face Michael. 

“You love me,” he tells Michael, who scoffs. 

“What, you want me to lie to you now?” he says, but his eyes are big and wide as Calum takes two steps and closes the gap between the two of them, placing his arms either side of Michael and crowding him against the table. 

“You lie to me all the time,” Calum says, almost eye-level with Michael, and Michael blinks up at him, all sea-green eyes and thick, inky lashes. 

“Only about, like, how many hours I’ve spent on Valorant,” he says, a little breathy. “I’d never lie to you on _that_ kind of a scale.” 

“Yeah?” Calum says, leaning in closer, just enough that if Michael were to break, to tilt his head up, he’d be kissing Calum, and relishing the way Michael’s breath hitches as he does. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, swallowing. 

“Shame,” Calum murmurs. “Thought we had something good going.” 

“You know me,” Michael says, eyes searching Calum’s. “Heartbreaker.” Calum huffs out a laugh, and Michael’s head tilts up slightly, automatically, a fraction of a movement towards Calum’s lips. Calum grins, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Want something?” he says, and Michael doesn’t even have it in him to scowl anymore, just blinks up at Calum. 

“Yeah,” Michael says softly. “Dinner.” 

Calum leans back, rolling his eyes fondly. 

“Oh, I see,” he says. “I’m your fucking maid now, am I?” He turns to get back to the hob, but Michael catches his wrist as he moves away and pulls him back so fast that Calum almost gets fucking whiplash. 

“And you,” Michael whispers, eyes earnest and bright, and then he’s kissing Calum, soft and familiar and warm under Calum’s lips. Calum smiles into the kiss, bringing his hands up to cup Michael’s jaw gently. It only lasts a minute, because Calum really does have to get back to the hob, but despite that and the fact that Calum’s been kissing Michael as long as he can remember he still feels a little light-headed when he pulls away.

“See?” Michael says, when they break apart. “Told you I was good company.” 

Calum thinks he might have a point. 


	8. "do you want me to stop?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael loves playing with Calum’s hair.
> 
> He doesn’t even remember how it started; when Calum’s hair had grown out one summer in high school, maybe, and Michael had thought, I wonder whether it’s soft? and so he’d just touched it, because it was Calum and so he could. Or when Calum had got a buzzcut, and Michael had thought, I wonder whether it’s prickly? and so he’d just touched it, because it was Calum and so he could. 
> 
> The reason he’d never admit to anyone, though, is just because Calum fucking loves it, and Michael would go to the ends of the Earth if it would make Calum smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "do you want me to stop?"

Michael loves playing with Calum’s hair.

He doesn’t even remember how it started; when Calum’s hair had grown out one summer in high school, maybe, and Michael had thought, _I wonder whether it’s soft?_ and so he’d just touched it, because it was Calum and so he could. Or when Calum had got a buzzcut, and Michael had thought, _I wonder whether it’s prickly?_ and so he’d just touched it, because it was Calum and so he could. 

The reason he’d never admit to anyone, though, is just because Calum fucking loves it, and Michael would go to the ends of the Earth if it would make Calum smile. 

Calum’s lying curled on Michael’s chest, telling some story Luke had relayed to him about how he had knocked over a whole display at Target that morning and then hit another one with his bag as he’d whirled around to try and stop it falling, but Michael’s not listening to the story. He’s listening to Calum’s voice, deep and soft around the edges. 

“…and then the first employee, you know, the one with the- Mike, are you even listening to me?” Calum says, and Michael shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. Calum huffs, and nestles further into Michael’s chest, warm and heavy and _Calum_. Michael wishes Calum would stay here, like, permanently. He resolves to look into whether supergluing your best friend’s head to your chest is illegal in California as soon as Calum won’t be able to see what he’s typing.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Calum grumbles, and Michael feels it reverberate through his own body. 

“Yep,” he agrees, but he brings his hand up to Calum’s hair absent-mindedly, fingers toying with the curls. “But you love me.” 

“It’s my biggest flaw,” Calum tells him, and Michael grins. 

“You should grow your hair out again,” he says after a moment, holding a silky blonde curl between his index and middle fingers. Calum pushes up against Michael’s hand, humming quietly. 

“Not going to have a choice, am I?” he says. 

“I could cut it for you.” 

“You just said I should grow it out.” Michael rolls his eyes, scratching at Calum’s scalp. 

“I’m just saying I _could_ ,” he says. 

“You’re, like, number one on the list of people I wouldn’t want anywhere near my head with scissors,” Calum says. “And that’s including Luke.” Michael scowls. He’d do a great job cutting Calum’s hair. 

“Good thing I want you to grow your hair out, then,” he says. Calum hums, and noses into Michael’s shirt. 

“What, you think just because you want me to I’m going to do it?” he says, voice sounding a little heavier. 

“Yeah,” Michael says. 

“You’re probably right,” Calum says, and Michael smiles. 

They lapse into silence for a moment, Michael running his fingers through every curl he can get to, and Calum makes a little noise of contentment that Michael feels in his heart and lungs. 

“When d’you think this is going to be over?” Michael says after a minute. 

“Hmm?” Calum says, a little distantly, muffled by the fabric of Michael’s shirt. “Quarantine?”

“Yeah.” 

“Mm, dunno,” Calum says, wrapping an arm around Michael’s waist. Michael lets his fingernails scratch lightly at the skin above Calum’s ear, and Calum lets out a sigh of pleasure. 

“You’re so good at that,” he mumbles, using the arm around Michael’s waist to pull Michael closer to him. 

“I’m good at everything,” Michael tells him. 

“‘M sleepy,” Calum says. Michael’s fingers still in Calum’s hair, because he knows Calum hates falling asleep on the sofa. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Calum shakes his head, making Michael’s fingers move against his scalp again. 

“No,” he says, soft and drowsy. “Don’t want quarantine to end. Want this forever.” 

Michael grins, because Calum can’t see him. 

“Want you forever,” Calum adds, so quiet that Michael would have missed it if it weren’t for the fact that he listens for Calum’s voice without even thinking about it. He leans down just enough to press a kiss to the top of Calum’s head, making a mental note that his ab workout for the week is therefore done. 

“You’ve already got that,” he says, and he feels Calum grin into his chest. 

“Only because you play with my hair, though,” he mumbles. 

“Only because I play with your hair,” Michael agrees.


	9. “who told you that?” / “is this really necessary?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum’s frowning at the piece of paper on the kitchen counter when Michael walks into the kitchen, mixing bowl and ladle in his arms. 
> 
> “Five eggs?” he asks, not looking up from the recipe. “Is that really necessary? Seems like overkill.” Michael dumps the mixing bowl and ladle on the island in the kitchen and wanders over to Calum, hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist. Calum hums, and automatically brings his hand up to scratch at Michael’s scalp. 
> 
> “I think that’s a three,” Michael says. Calum tilts his head, like it’s going to make the number any clearer. 
> 
> “No, I think it’s a five,” he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “who told you that?” / “is this really necessary?"

Calum’s frowning at the piece of paper on the kitchen counter when Michael walks into the kitchen, mixing bowl and ladle in his arms. 

“Five eggs?” he asks, not looking up from the recipe. “Is that really necessary? Seems like overkill.” Michael dumps the mixing bowl and ladle on the island in the kitchen and wanders over to Calum, hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist. Calum hums, and automatically brings his hand up to scratch at Michael’s scalp. 

“I think that’s a three,” Michael says. Calum tilts his head, like it’s going to make the number any clearer. 

“No, I think it’s a five,” he says. 

“When have you ever baked a cake that called for five eggs?” Michael asks. 

“When have I ever baked a cake?” Calum throws back, and Michael has to concede there. 

“Let’s just make it with three,” he suggests. 

“What if it’s supposed to be five, though?” 

“Well, what if it’s supposed to be three?” Calum sighs. 

“I could just call my mum,” he says. “It’s her shitty handwriting, after all.” 

“It’s six a.m. in Sydney,” Michael points out. Calum shrugs, dislodging Michael’s head uncomfortably, and Michael makes a noise of discontent. 

“Should have written the recipe clearer, then,” Calum says, pulling away from Michael to fetch the mixing bowl from the kitchen island. Michael lets him go, arms dropping back to his side, trying not to think about the sudden coolness that hits him as Calum walks away. 

“Just do it with three,” Michael says. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know, what happens if you don’t put enough eggs in a cake?” Calum asks. He looks at Michael expectantly, like Michael’s some kind of food scientist with intimate knowledge of egg physics.

“Why the fuck do you think I’d know that?” Michael says. Calum shrugs. 

“You seem really fucking certain that we should be using three eggs,” he says. “Figured you must have a reason for it.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“ _Yeah,_ because I can fucking _read_ ,” he says. Calum just flips him off, mixing bowl in hand, and walks back over to the counter to set it down on the scales. 

“I think we should make it with five,” Calum says decisively, and starts shaking flour into the bowl. 

“I’m telling you, it’s three,” Michael says. “You’re going to ruin the cake.” 

“I’m not going to ruin the fucking cake,” Calum grumbles, pouring in what looks like far too much sugar. “Oh, fuck, I forgot to check the number on the scales. Whoops.”

“Jesus- let me,” Michael says, barging over and hip-checking Calum out of the way. Calum’s definitely stronger than Michael, so he could push back if he wanted, but he lets Michael push him away, leaning against the counter and watching Michael spoon some of the sugar back into the packet. 

“What’s next?” Michael asks, and Calum turns back to the recipe. 

“Butter,” he says, and he reaches over for the butter dish to hand it to Michael. 

“This isn’t enough butter,” Michael tells him, and Calum rolls his eyes so hard Michael’s surprised they come back down. 

“Jesus, sorry, didn’t realise I had Gordon fucking Ramsay in the house,” Calum says, but he’s walking to the fridge and getting out a new pack of butter as he says it. 

“Gordon Ramsay’s a chef, not a baker,” Michael points out, holding his hand out for the butter. “Is this unsalted?” 

“Does it make a difference?” 

“I don’t know, do you want to risk eating a salty cake?” 

“Surely that amount of sugar will outweigh it?” Calum says, casting a look into the mixing bowl, but he sounds a little uncertain. 

“Do we have unsalted?” Michael asks, and Calum, still at the fridge, shakes his head. “Well. Maybe I should use less of it?” Calum frowns. 

“Well, if we’re already not using enough eggs-”

“Jesus, three eggs will be enough, Cal,” Michael says. Calum scowls at him, closing the fridge and pulling his phone out of his pocket as he walks back over to lean against the counter next to Michael. 

“If you love me, you’ll make it with five,” he says. 

“Don’t cry when I make it with three,” Michael says. Calum huffs. 

“I’m going to Google it,” he tells Michael, already pulling up Safari. 

“Go for it,” Michael says nonchalantly, cutting a slice of butter off and dropping it in the mixing bowl, watching the numbers go up. Fifteen more grams, okay. He can eyeball that. 

Calum’s quiet for a minute as Michael adds the baking powder, cocoa powder, milk and vanilla extract, and then he crows delightedly. 

“See?” he says, shoving the phone so close to Michael’s face that Michael momentarily thinks he might go blind. He jerks back, and sees Calum’s triumphant grin behind the spots dancing in front of his eyes. 

“I can’t see shit if you’re holding it that close,” Michael says, and Calum draws the phone back a little. 

“If we don’t add enough eggs it’ll be-” he pulls the phone away from Michael to read off the screen “-‘overly compact and won’t hold together well’. And if we add too many it turns into a soufflé.” Michael stares at him. 

“So how were you right?” he says. “We’re making a cake, not a soufflé.”

“But it would still be edible,” Calum points out. 

“Still not a cake, though,” Michael says. Calum rolls his eyes, and pushes the six-pack of eggs towards Michael. 

“Use five,” he says. 

“I’m using three,” Michael says, cracking one egg into the mixing bowl. 

“Okay, I’m adding two.” 

“Over my dead fucking body.” Calum shrugs. 

“So be it.” Michael scowls, and aims a kick at Calum’s shin as he cracks another egg, but Calum’s too quick for him, darting out of the way with a grin. 

“Fuck you,” Michael says grumpily, cracking a third egg. 

“You love me,” Calum says. 

“Who told you that?” Michael asks, cracking another egg into the bowl. Calum nods at the fifth egg currently in Michael’s hands. 

“You did,” he says. 


	10. calum realising they’re going to be friends forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Tuesday when Calum knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: calum realising they’re going to be friends forever 
> 
> can you fucking believe this is under 200 words man dont know what powers possessed me the day i wrote all of these ones but i'd love to access them again

It’s a Tuesday when Calum knows.

They’re sat on Michael’s kitchen floor, Michael gesticulating wildly as he explains how Luke had almost fallen on the train tracks that morning and how Michael had heroically saved him. He’s speaking animatedly, legs pressed against Calum’s, feet tucked under the cupboard Calum’s sat against, and Calum looks at him and just thinks, _I’m so glad I’m going to know you forever_.

“We’re going to be friends our whole lives,” Calum blurts. Michael gives him a strange look

“Well, obviously,” he says, sounding annoyed that Calum interrupted him for that. “Anyway-”


	11. it’s firework night and they're in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael’s still not a fan of New Year’s in LA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: it’s firework night and they're in love

Michael’s still not a fan of New Year’s in LA.

Back in Sydney, New Year’s meant barbecues, a muggy evening, a temperate night, sitting on the beach with Calum, toes dipped in the water, head on Calum’s shoulder as they watched the fireworks erupting in the city. In LA, New Year’s is cold, wet, and dark.

Calum, though, loves it here, loves the crowds and the way he can see his breath and the way Michael’s nose turns pink in the wind. Michael loves none of that, but he does love Calum, so he goes.

At one minute past midnight, Calum’s grinning at the sky, lit up by the golden sparks dripping through the fog, hand warm and familiar in Michael’s.

“New Year’s here reminds me of you,” Calum says. “Warmth in the cold, bright, bursting, brilliant and beautiful. God, I can’t get enough of you, Michael. Never can.” Michael squeezes Calum’s hand.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Calum brings their joined hands to his lips, presses a kiss to Michael’s knuckles.

“Here’s to another year of us,” he says, gazing up at the sky, and Michael watches the fireworks reflected in Calum’s eyes. 


	12. "do it, I dare you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Huh,” Michael says thoughtfully, staring at Calum. “You know, we can fix that pretty easily.” Calum frowns at him. 
> 
> “I don’t think me never having gone streaking is something that needs fixing,” he says doubtfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "do it, I dare you"

“Huh,” Michael says thoughtfully, staring at Calum. “You know, we can fix that pretty easily.” Calum frowns at him. 

“I don’t think me never having gone streaking is something that needs fixing,” he says doubtfully. Michael shakes his head. 

“No, it is,” he says importantly. “You can’t be twenty-four years old and never have streaked.” 

“Well, I am,” Calum says. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“ _Yeah_ , but we’re going to fix it,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Calum folds his arms. 

“I’m not going streaking,” he says firmly. 

“Why not?” 

“ _Why no_ \- Mike, I don’t want to get my cock out in front of strangers!” Calum says. 

“You won’t,” Michael says stubbornly. “We’ll do it at night.” 

“I don’t want to freeze my balls off, either.” 

“It’s July.” Calum throws his hands in the air. 

“I don’t think me not wanting to go streaking is something I need to defend, Michael,” he says. 

“What if I go with you?” Michael prods. Calum throws him a look. 

“I was under the impression that was already on the table,” he says. “I’m not going streaking _on my own_. That’s just public indecency.” 

“I think streaking is public indecency no matter the number of people,” Michael points out helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Calum says emphatically, “which is why I’m not going streaking.” Michael cocks his head. 

“Do it,” he says. “I dare you.”

“You _dare_ me?” Calum says. “You think I’m that easy?” Michael considers for about a third of a millisecond before nodding, and Calum scowls. 

“You just want to see me naked,” he says. Michael shrugs. 

“Maybe,” he says, and Calum narrows his eyes. 

“You’re trying to get me to go streaking just to see me naked?” he says suspiciously. “Michael, you know you can just ask?” Michael scoffs. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says sarcastically. “‘Let me see your dick, Cal, it’s for science’. That’d go down well.” 

“You’ve seen my dick plenty of times,” Calum says. 

“Not like _that_ , though,” Michael says, because it’s different when Calum’s just wandering around after a shower. Calum raises an eyebrow. 

“You wanna see my dick?” he says. Michael shrugs again, a little uncomfortable this time. 

“Might do,” he says evasively. Calum stares at him another moment, and then unzips his jeans. “What are you doing?” 

“Thought you wanted to see my dick?” 

“I do, but-” 

“But?” Michael casts a nervous glance at the window. 

“Anyone could see,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, so streaking’s fine, but getting naked in the privacy of our own hotel room, that’s not?” he says. Michael scowls. 

“Fine,” he says. “Get your dick out. See if I care.” 

“You do care,” Calum points out. Michael folds his arms. 

“I do care,” he agrees, a little sullenly. Calum grins, eyes glinting. 

“See?” he says sweetly, hooking his fingers in his belt loops and pulling his jeans down. “All you had to do was play nice.” 


	13. “and where do I go?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your mum called,” Calum says, when Michael gets back on the bus. 
> 
> “She called you?” Calum holds up Michael’s phone. 
> 
> “No,” he says, “but I’m fairly sure she was happier to talk to me.” Michael scowls, and snatches the phone out of Calum’s hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “and where do I go?"

“Your mum called,” Calum says, when Michael gets back on the bus. 

“She called you?” Calum holds up Michael’s phone. 

“No,” he says, “but I’m fairly sure she was happier to talk to me.” Michael scowls, and snatches the phone out of Calum’s hand. 

“What did she say?” he says. 

“Your water’s been shut off,” Calum says. Michael stares at him. 

“In LA?” Calum nods. Michael groans, and throws himself down on the sofa. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Nope,” Calum says, far too cheerfully, sitting down next to Michael and slinging an arm around his shoulders. Michael shuffles closer, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. 

“You could have looked a bit sadder when you were delivering that news, you know,” Michael tells him sulkily. Calum shrugs. 

“Not my problem,” he says, and Michael scowls and pinches his waist. Calum squeals, jerking away, arm hitting Michael’s head as he pulls it in instinctively, but Michael supposes he kind of deserves that. “Ow, fuck, you dickhead.” 

“Fuck you,” Michael says pointedly, and a little huffily. “ _You_ get to go home.” 

“Well, you’re coming back to LA too,” Calum points out, settling back against Michael and putting his arm around his shoulder again, pulling him closer. Michael rolls his eyes, but lets himself be pulled. 

“And where do I go?” he demands. “A hotel? Sleep in the airport?” Calum’s arm tightens around him, a little too tense to be comfortable. 

“You could stay at mine,” he offers, and he’s trying to sound like he’s just throwing it out casually, but there’s an undertone of nervousness that only Michael would pick up on. 

“You only have one bed, Cal,” Michael points out. Calum shrugs. 

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a definite hint of anxiety in his voice now. 

“You want to share a bed?” 

“If it’s with you.” Michael opens his mouth to respond, and then Calum’s words hit him, and he closes it again. Calum’s grip on Michael is vice-like, now, but Michael’s kind of okay with parting with a limb for Calum. 

Yeah, they fuck around on tour, but it’s always stayed on tour, stayed in drunk nights, awkward mornings-after, laughed off in truth or dare after a few too many shots. It’s never been _that_ , never been sharing a bed - _Calum’s_ bed. But, Michael finds, when he weighs up Calum’s offer, it doesn’t freak him out. Actually, it feels kind of right.

“Huh,” he says, and he can’t help the wonder that leaks into his voice. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.” 

“You don’t have to,” Calum says, as Michael burrows into his neck. 

“I know,” Michael mumbles, pressing a kiss to Calum’s throat. Calum hums, a little breathlessly, and tilts his head up, giving Michael better access. 

“You know what I’m asking, right, Mikey?” he asks, soft and nervous. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, pressing a kiss to Calum’s jaw. “You think I’d say yes if there weren’t implicit sexual favours on the table?” Calum snorts, but the tension’s dissipating from his posture a little. 

“You’d get the sexual favours anyway,” he says, which is true. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, stretching up to press a kiss to the corner of Calum’s mouth. “But I think I’d like those sexual favours in your big fucking super king bed rather than on your cold marble kitchen counter.” Calum hums, and leans down to capture Michael’s lips in a kiss. 

“You’re not getting out of getting fucked on the kitchen counter that easily,” he mumbles, but Michael thinks it’s probably a fair price to pay for a place to stay. 


	14. "so we're together now" "...what do you mean now? aren't you two already dating?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s taken a long time to convince Calum that they should tell Luke and Ashton, because he’d wanted to make sure that they weren’t going to fuck it up, but he’s finally agreed. Michael and Calum have a Band Meeting™, and Luke and Ashton are sitting on the sofa, expectant looks on their faces.
> 
> “So,” Michael says, taking a deep breath, reaching for Calum’s hand. He’s glad to find Calum’s is as cold and clammy as his own. “We’re together now.” Ashton blinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "so we're together now" "...what do you mean now? aren't you two already dating?"

It’s taken a long time to convince Calum that they should tell Luke and Ashton, because he’d wanted to make sure that they weren’t going to fuck it up, but he’s finally agreed. Michael and Calum have a Band Meeting™, and Luke and Ashton are sitting on the sofa, expectant looks on their faces.

“So,” Michael says, taking a deep breath, reaching for Calum’s hand. He’s glad to find Calum’s is as cold and clammy as his own. “We’re together now.” Ashton blinks.

“What?” he says.

“What do you mean?” Luke asks, frowning.

“We’re dating,” Calum says, and he sounds like he’s about to throw up. Michael squeezes his hand.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, “but what do you mean, _now_? Aren’t you two already dating?” Michael stares at him.

“No?” he says. “What the fuck? Have you spent the past seven years thinking we’re dating?” 

“Mate, everyone at _school_ thought you were dating,” Luke says, sounding absolutely bewildered.

“This is because of that one time in Maths, isn’t it?” Calum says, and Michael groans. _Anything_ but that.

“What time?” Ashton says curiously.

“Nope,” Calum says firmly.

“Absolutely not,” Michael says.

“Trust me,” Luke says to Ashton. “You don’t want to know.”


	15. malum wedding through lashton's eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He looks fucking gorgeous,” Ashton murmurs to Calum under his breath, and Calum smiles, tears already welling in his eyes.
> 
> “Yeah, that’s why I’m marrying him,” Calum whispers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: malum wedding through lashton's eyes

Ashton’s standing next to Calum, who’s hopping from foot to foot, staring at the window behind the officiant’s head steadfastly. Michael’s walking up the aisle, because Michael had said he needed at least thirty seconds to be the centre of attention, dressed in a sharp black suit, hair freshly-washed, smile big on his face. He looks absolutely breathtaking.

“He looks fucking gorgeous,” Ashton murmurs to Calum under his breath, and Calum smiles, tears already welling in his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m marrying him,” Calum whispers back.

-

“‘Til death do us part,” Michael repeats, voice wobbly, tears streaming freely down his face. Luke wishes he’d remembered to bring a handkerchief, regrets laughing at Ashton for bringing one, but Ashton passes his over wordlessly.

Michael and Calum never broadcast their relationship, never show anything more than little touches, stolen looks, and Luke _knows_ they’re in love, but he’s never seen it like this. He’s never seen the love so fierce and pure in their eyes, the way they smile at each other like the whole wedding party doesn’t even fucking exist.

If Luke ever gets a love a tenth of theirs, he thinks, it’d be more than enough.


	16. "don't you dare walk away"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey,” Calum says, frowning and pointing at the breakfast bar. 
> 
> “What?” Michael asks lazily, not looking up from his phone as he scrolls through Twitter. 
> 
> “There’s milk all over the bar.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "don't you dare walk away"

“Hey,” Calum says, frowning and pointing at the breakfast bar. 

“What?” Michael asks lazily, not looking up from his phone as he scrolls through Twitter. 

“There’s milk all over the bar.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Michael says carelessly, stopping to like a tweet, and then continuing to scroll. “Sorry.” Calum scowls. 

“ _Sorry?_ ” he echoes. “Mike, fucking clean up after yourself.” Michael shrugs, locking his phone, and gets up, empty cereal bowl in hand. 

“I’ll do it later,” he says, dropping the bowl and spoon in the sink with a clatter and heading for the door. 

“Are you serious?” Calum demands, folding his arms. “Don’t you dare walk away.” Michael rolls his eyes, and spins on his heel. 

“ _What_ , Cal, I said I’d fucking clean it later,” he says irritably. 

“Fucking clean it now!” Calum says angrily. 

“ _You_ fucking clean it, if it matters to you so much.” 

“ _I_ didn’t make the fucking mess.” 

“And I don’t _care_ about the mess,” Michael says pointedly, folding his arms to match Calum. 

“You’re a fucking pig, you know that?” Calum snaps. Michael shrugs. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “Clean it yourself if you care that much.” Calum stares at him for a moment, fury etched in his features, and then shakes his head. 

“I’m not cleaning up after you, Mike,” he says wearily. “I don’t want to fuck someone I’m mothering. That’s not sexy.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“So don’t clean up after me, then,” he suggests. 

“I also don’t want to live in squalor.” 

“Jesus, Cal, it’s _milk_ , it’s not squalor,” Michael says, but he’s had enough of his argument, so he stalks over to the sink, grabs a cloth, and makes a pointed show of waving it in Calum’s face. Calum remains stoic and unimpressed, eyes following Michael as he hastily wipes down the breakfast bar and wrings the cloth out in the sink. “Happy now?” he says, more than a little moodily. 

“I’ll be happier when I don’t have to bitch at you to clean up after yourself at the age of twenty-five,” Calum says, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Jesus, there’s no fucking pleasing you,” he snaps, turning on his heel to leave, but Calum’s faster than him, snaking his arms around Michael’s waist and drawing him close. Michael grudgingly lets himself be pulled, huffing discontentedly when Calum rests his head on Michael’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Michael in earnest. 

“Just fucking clean up,” Calum murmurs, cheek warm against Michael’s neck. “That’s all I’m asking for.” Michael twists in Calum’s grip, meeting Calum’s gaze. 

“Yeah, but you’re asking it of _me_ ,” he points out, and Calum huffs out a wry laugh. 

“It won’t kill you to act your age,” he tells Michael, who rolls his eyes. Calum widens his eyes, blinking earnestly, because he knows Michael can never resist that. “And it’ll make me happy,” he adds hopefully. Michael’s heart softens a little at that, irritation abating. 

“It might,” he says, and Calum rolls his eyes, but Michael sees the fondness in them. 

“Well, it’s either acting your age kills you, or I do,” he says, and Michael grins. 

“You’re not very threatening,” he says, resting his head against Calum’s. “I think I’ll take my chances.” 


	17. "why would i ever do that?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s pretty much a universal truth that grocery shopping is no fun. Having to take at least an hour out of your day to drive to the shop, find everything you want, inevitably pick up a few extra things that you didn’t want but have been psychologically manipulated into wanting, spend far too much fucking money and realise you forgot your points card at home (again), and then drive back home and spend ages playing an unwanted game of Tetris trying to fit everything into the fridge is, Calum thinks, probably something most people would rather do without. 
> 
> But, he thinks darkly, nobody else has to contend with Michael while grocery shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "why would i ever do that?"

It’s pretty much a universal truth that grocery shopping is no fun. Having to take at least an hour out of your day to drive to the shop, find everything you want, inevitably pick up a few extra things that you didn’t want but have been psychologically manipulated into wanting, spend far too much fucking money and realise you forgot your points card at home (again), and then drive back home and spend ages playing an unwanted game of Tetris trying to fit everything into the fridge is, Calum thinks, probably something most people would rather do without. 

But, he thinks darkly, nobody else has to contend with _Michael_ while grocery shopping.

“Hey,” he says idly, like he knows he’s on Calum’s mind. He’s holding a jar of pickles, turning it this way and that in his hand. “What d’you think of pickles?” 

“We’re not buying pickles,” Calum says, on principle. 

“I didn’t say we should,” Michael says. “Just wondered what you think about them.” 

“I don’t like them,” Calum says. 

“Hmm,” Michael says, and puts them in the shopping trolley. Calum sighs, exasperated, and takes them out again. 

“You don’t like them either,” he says, putting them back on the shelf. 

“I know,” Michael says, having moved on to the tins of beans. “But they look kind of cool, don’t they?” 

“No,” Calum says, half to what Michael’s just said, half to the four tins of beans Michael’s just scooped up. 

“We need beans,” Michael says, a little petulantly. “They’re on the list.” 

“Not four fucking tins, though,” Calum says. Michael puts one back. “Or three.” Michael rolls his eyes, and puts another one back. 

“We should make fajitas tomorrow,” Michael remarks, eyeing a fajita box kit. 

“You said two minutes ago that you wanted bolognese tomorrow.” 

“ _Yeah,_ bolognese for dinner and fajitas for lunch,” Michael says, picking up a box and putting it in the trolley. 

“You won’t be able to stomach that,” Calum says knowingly, taking the box back out and putting it back on the shelf. 

“I will,” Michael says, putting the box back in the shopping trolley. 

“You won’t,” Calum says, taking it out again. “You snack too much.” Michael pouts. 

“I snack a normal amount,” he says, making grabby hands for the box that’s still in Calum’s hands. Calum holds it even further out of reach. 

“You couldn’t even eat a sandwich for dinner yesterday because you got too impatient and ate four bags of popcorn at five o’clock,” Calum reminds him, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“ _One time_ ,” he says. 

“You ate three big bags of crisps the night before and couldn’t eat dinner,” Calum says, “and last week there was that night you ate all the chocolate in the hou-” 

“Alright, fine,” Michael says, a little moodily. “I won’t snack tomorrow.” Calum arches an eyebrow at him, and Michael widens his eyes, all butter-wouldn’t-melt. Calum knows where that mouth has been, though, and he’s not buying it for a minute. 

“No,” he says. “I’m not spending our money on food that’s going to go to waste.” 

“Fine,” Michael says, and leans over to snatch the box out of Calum’s hands. “I’ll buy it myself.” 

“Fine,” Calum says, because Michael can waste his money as he damn well pleases, and pushes the shopping trolley to the end of the aisle. “Is that everything?” Michael glances down at the piece of paper in his hand, and nods. 

“Did you remember your points card?” he says, as Calum pushes the trolley in the direction of the checkout, and he groans. 

“Fuck,” he says. “I told you to remind me.”

“I just did.” 

“What fucking use is it here?” 

“Well, in fairness, you never specified where I should remind you,” Michael points out. Calum’s going to kill him. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he tells Michael very seriously, as they round the corner to the checkout. Michael grins, tossing a few packs of butter and some milk onto the conveyor belt. 

“At least wait until the life insurance papers go through,” he says. 

“Did you send them off?”

“I thought you were sending them off?” 

“Jesus Chr- Michael, the deadline’s _tomorrow_ ,” Calum says, pausing with the carrots in his hand to give Michael a look that’s halfway between disbelief and irritation. 

“It’s fine,” Michael says, waving his hand dismissively and almost sending the oranges he’s holding flying. “I’ll go to the post office as soon as we get home.” 

“You’re just saying that to get out of putting the groceries away,” Calum says, because he knows Michael, and Michael grins shamelessly. Calum sighs, and shakes his head, but those papers really do need sending off and Michael’s always more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to putting the groceries away, so he lets it slide. 

The cashier makes idle small talk with them as he scans their groceries, and Michael throws them haphazardly into bags, ignoring the glares Calum’s sending his way that are very much communicating _did you just put the fucking milk on top of the croissants._ The fajita box ends up going with the rest of their groceries, as both of them had known it would, but Calum pretends he doesn’t see it, and Michael pretends he doesn’t see the small, fond smile on Calum’s lips when Michael grabs it gleefully and hugs it close to his chest. 

“Oh,” Michael says, when they’re almost halfway to the car, like he’s just remembered. “I’m not going to be home for lunch tomorrow. Or dinner, probably.” 

“Why not?”

“Luke wants to play golf.” Calum presses the button on the car key, and turns to Michael. 

“ _Golf?_ ” he says sceptically. Michael shrugs and nods, and opens the boot of the car. 

“You’ll have to eat the fajitas for me,” Michael says. 

“They’ll keep,” Calum says, nodding at the box Michael’s still holding. 

“But I’ll forget about them.” 

“So set yourself a reminder.” Michael sighs, and blinks up at Calum beseechingly. 

“I won’t want them after tomorrow,” he says. “They’re a fleeting craving.” 

“That sounds like a you problem,” Calum tells him, picking two bags up out of the shopping trolley and placing them in the car. 

“Eat them for me,” Michael says pleadingly. 

“Why would I ever do that?” 

“Because you love me?” Michael tries. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Nope,” he says. 

“Please?” 

“You’re the one who wanted them,” Calum says. “I don’t even _like_ fajitas.”

“You do,” Michael says. 

“Well, not those ones.” 

“You’ve never had them,” Michael says. “You’ll have to eat them to find out.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“No,” he says firmly. “You wanted them, you eat them.” 

“If you loved me, you’d eat them,” Michael says. 

“Good thing I don’t have to eat them, then,” Calum says, and Michael sighs, and chucks the box on top of the rest of their shopping. 

-

(When Michael gets back the next evening, there’s an empty fajita box wedged in the top of the recycling bin.) 


	18. "do you want to talk about it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At precisely four fifty-three in the morning, Michael’s phone chimes. 
> 
> He’s half-asleep, but that means he’s half-awake, so he rolls over, slams his hand on his bedside table and gropes for his phone, lifting it up to his face and squinting at the bright light. 
> 
> It’s a text from Calum, which is a little unusual. Calum’s usually asleep at this time of night, because he gets up at fucking six a.m. to go for a jog and then follows it up with a yoga session with Ashton. That in itself is enough to make Michael unlock his phone, but it’s also a picture, which piques Michael’s sleepy curiosity even more. 
> 
> The picture takes a moment to load, and then, in all its glory, Michael sees Calum’s dick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "do you want to talk about it?"

At precisely four fifty-three in the morning, Michael’s phone chimes. 

He’s half-asleep, but that means he’s half-awake, so he rolls over, slams his hand on his bedside table and gropes for his phone, lifting it up to his face and squinting at the bright light. 

It’s a text from Calum, which is a little unusual. Calum’s usually asleep at this time of night, because he gets up at fucking six a.m. to go for a jog and then follows it up with a yoga session with Ashton. That in itself is enough to make Michael unlock his phone, but it’s also a picture, which piques Michael’s sleepy curiosity even more. 

The picture takes a moment to load, and then, in all its glory, Michael sees Calum’s dick. 

And, okay, he’s seen Calum’s dick before. Calum’s not exactly a stranger to nudity, nor is he particularly in touch with his sense of shame. Usually, though, it’ll be after a shower, or while they’re getting ready for a gig, and accompanied by casual conversations about what he’s going to have for breakfast tomorrow - it’s not like _this,_ not personal and intimate. Something about it makes Michael’s stomach flip, and he finds he doesn’t entirely hate the sensation. 

Huh, he thinks. Okay. So he likes Calum’s dick. That’s an interesting development. 

He’s not really sure what to do with the picture, though. Is Calum looking for a critique? Should he respond with some kind, encouraging words - _nice dick, mate, solid 9/10 at least?_ Should he smash his phone and pretend he broke it before Calum sent the picture? Should he send one back? 

In the end, he does none of that. Instead, he calls Calum. 

“What the fuck are you still doing up?” he says, when Calum picks up. 

“How’d you know I’m up?” Calum says, and Michael can picture the frown on his face, brows knitted together. 

“You texted me a picture of your dick,” Michael tells him, because he’s not one for much decorum. Calum lets out a little gasp, and then there’s a (really fucking loud) noise as Calum tears the phone from his ear and fumbles with it. 

“Oh my God,” Calum groans, and there’s a thud that Michael thinks is probably the back of Calum’s head hitting the wall behind him. “Fuck. Sorry. Wasn’t for you.” 

“Figured,” Michael says, but he’s a little put out that it wasn’t intended for him, and something bitter swells in his heart for the nameless person it _was_ intended for. “Nice dick, though.” 

“You’ve seen it, like, a million times,” Calum says, which is a fair point. Michael’s mouth’s never watered like that before, though. 

“Yeah, but you’ve never sent me a dick pic before,” Michael says. 

“Would’ve liked to keep it that way,” Calum mutters. “Anyway. You’ve seen my dick now. Can I go to bed?” 

“Who was it for?” 

“Hm?”

“The dick pic. Who was it for?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Who?” Calum sighs. 

“Some guy, I dunno,” he says, and he sounds a little quieter. “Sent me a dick pic first. Thought it’d be polite to send one back, y’know?” 

“Oh,” Michael says, hating this faceless guy even more. “I could send you a dick pic.” Calum chokes on his next breath, and Michael waits it out patiently while he splutters something that sounds like _you- Michael- I- we haven’t- are you-_

“I know what your dick looks like,” he says, when he’s recovered enough to form full sentences again. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be for, like, _research_ purposes, would it?” Michael says, staring up at the dark ceiling. 

“Mike, c’mon,” Calum says, a little whiny, a little edgy. “This is fucking embarrassing. Don’t take the piss.” 

“I’m not,” Michael protests. “And it’s not embarrassing.” 

“I sent you a fucking dick pic, Mike, how’s that not embarrassing?” Michael shrugs, even though Calum can’t see him, because he knows Calum will know he’s shrugging. “Right,” Calum says, like he’s steeled himself. “I’m going to send you a bunch of pictures to get rid of it, and then I’m going to go to sleep.” 

“You don’t think we should talk about this?” Calum pauses, and Michael can almost hear him thinking. 

“Mike,” Calum says eventually, a careful edge to his tone that tells Michael that he’s hedging his bets, leaving room for him to laugh and say _fucking dickhead, of course I didn’t mean it like that._ “Do _you_ wanna talk about it?” Michael hesitates. 

“Just think we should,” he mumbles. 

“Oh,” Calum says, sounding a little stunned. Michael swallows, and hopes the microphone doesn’t pick it up. “Mike, I-” 

“Don’t,” Michael says, because he doesn’t know if he can face the inevitable ensuing conversation. _I don’t feel that way. Sorry. We can’t be best friends anymore, by the way, because it’s fucking weird that you like my dick. You’re insane, and I’m quitting the band._

“Okay,” Calum says gently, because he can tell when Michael doesn’t want to talk about things like that, to dissect his feelings and look at every thought from seventeen different angles and ponder _why, when, how?,_ and Michael loves him for it. “How about this, then. You send me one.” There’s a moment of tense silence, and Michael doesn’t know if either of them are breathing. 

“A dick pic?” he says, just to make sure he’s understanding, and probably also to stall for time and hope his brain switches itself back on so he can actually come up with a coherent response. Calum, Michael’s best friend, is asking for a _dick pic._

“Yeah,” Calum says, sounding casual, but Michael hears the edge of nervousness to his tone. 

“Okay,” Michael says thickly, pushing the duvet down. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll send you one.” He hears Calum swallow. 

“Yeah?” Calum says, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, tugging at his pyjama bottoms. “Only so we’re even, though.” Calum huffs out a laugh, soft and beautiful and God, Michael loves more than just his dick. Michael loves Calum. 

“Only so we’re even,” Calum agrees. 


	19. wilde kerle au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it’s him that they all listen to, whether it’s nodding quietly or with melodramatic, exasperated sighs (Ben), and it’s him who calls the shots, who says Joanna, you’re captain, or Ben, if you don’t fucking pass me that ball I’m putting you on the bench indefinitely, or, when a new, pretty, blonde boy shows up at their makeshift pitch, who the fuck are you? 
> 
> “Michael,” the guy says, holding his hand out. Calum stares at it, and then back at his face. 
> 
> “What d’you want?” Michael drops his hand back to his side.
> 
> “To play.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no prompt here i just decided to write a wilde kerle au prompt for my spoiler twin love u <3 i do wanna write more in this verse i just need to rewatch wilde kerle first because i genuinely have no memory of anything other than my 7 year old self crushing on jimi blue

Football’s always been something Calum’s taken seriously, even more so when they lose their little pitch. _You’ll have to win it back off us,_ Michi says, with a smirk, and then kicks the ball at Calum’s head, hard. 

Fine, Calum thinks, gritting his teeth as he walks away. He’ll fucking win it back, then. 

He trains every day after his lectures are finished, four hours on the weekend, drags Mali out of bed and makes her walk with Calum through the rain and mud to get to the pitch they practice on. It starts with just them, and then a few other stragglers join because they hate Michi, and then some join because they want to play football, and one of them brings his little brother, who turns out to be Calum’s age. Luke, he’s called, and he’s the most annoying little fuck Calum’s ever met. He doesn’t speak, just stands at the sidelines with wide eyes, staring at the ball as it gets one-twoed from Calum to Ashton and back again, and Calum’s one failed throw-in away from telling Luke’s brother Jack to just fuck off and take him home when the ball lands at Luke’s feet, somewhere around the halfway line, and he looks at it, blinks, steps back, and kicks it. It flies in a perfect arc, soaring through the air, and lands neatly in the top left-hand corner of the goal, and Luke just looks at it and then turns away, like that’s normal, like it’s a regular occurrence. 

Calum decides he can stay. 

Because it’s Calum’s team, really. Mali likes to pretend its hers, because she’s older and more organised and the one who makes sure everyone’s stood where they need to be stood and marking who they need to be marking, but Calum’s the one who comes up with the tactics, who watches as Ashton expertly slide-tackles Chris and decides he’s wasted as a goalkeeper, who sees Nick and his left foot and starts picturing him up front, who looks at Joanna and sees the way she’s already five steps ahead of everyone else and thinks _right, that’s our captain, then._ He’s the one that gives them all feedback, showering Joanna with compliments and Ben with insults, and the one who sits them down and tells them where they need to go and not go, how fast to run and when to dribble and pass, yes, that’s _pass_ , Ben, ever heard of the fucking concept? 

So it’s him that they all listen to, whether it’s nodding quietly or with melodramatic, exasperated sighs (Ben), and it’s him who calls the shots, who says _Joanna, you’re captain,_ or _Ben, if you don’t fucking pass me that ball I’m putting you on the bench indefinitely,_ or, when a new, pretty, blonde boy shows up at their makeshift pitch, _who the fuck are you?_

“Michael,” the guy says, holding his hand out. Calum stares at it, and then back at his face. 

“What d’you want?” Michael drops his hand back to his side.

“To play.” 

“We’ve got enough players.” Michael’s eyes flick from Calum to the team, who are gathering behind him, watching what’s going on. 

“You haven’t got one like me.” He sounds so cocksure, so confident, and Calum raises an eyebrow. 

“What’s a player like you?” Michael shrugs. 

“Give me the ball and I’ll show you.” Calum’s grip tightens on the ball in his arm. 

“We don’t need any more players,” he says. 

“Oh?” Michael says. “Is that why you’re still playing on this pitch, and Michi’s got your old one?” There’s a smattering of murmurs from behind Calum, who stiffens, glowering at Michael. 

“Fuck you,” Calum bites out. Michael grins. 

“If you want,” he says, “but then you have to let me on the team.” 

“No,” Calum says. “We don’t need you.” 

“C’mon,” Michael says, and holds his hands out for the ball. “Let me at least show you.” 

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re wasting our practice time.” Michael arches his own eyebrow. 

“Wasting your practice time?” he echoes. “You’ve been practicing every day for weeks. You can take five minutes out of that.” Calum frowns, and his eyes narrow. 

“How d’you know that?” he says. “Have you been stalking us?” Michael stiffens, like he’s been caught out, and his eyes flit from Calum to the ground, a little uncomfortably. 

“That’s not the point,” he says. 

“You’ve been fucking stalking us?” Calum demands. 

“I just want to fucking play,” Michael says. 

“Go fucking play with Michi.” 

“I don’t want to play with Michi,” Michael says. “I want to play with you.”

“Why?”

“Michi’s not as pretty as you.” There’s another few scattered murmurs from behind Calum, who clenches his fist at his side, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “This isn’t a fucking joke. We take this seriously.”

“So do I,” Michael says. “Who says I was joking?” 

“You-” Calum stops himself. _You called me pretty,_ he almost said, forgetting about the other players standing behind him, including his own sister. He turns to them with a scowl, and glares at at least three of them (including Ben). 

“Who said you could stop practicing?” he says. “You all think you’re Messi?” They look at him a little hesitantly, and he raises his eyebrows. “Well?” he demands, and they all start muttering under their breaths, some excuses, some complaints, but one by one they turn and head back to the plastic cones they’ve been doing dribbling drills with. Calum waits until they’re all safely out of earshot, flipping Mali off as she throws him a meaningful look as she jogs away, and then turns back to Michael. 

“Why should I give you a chance?” he says. Michael shrugs. 

“Because I’m a good footballer,” he says. 

“So’s everyone else on this team.” 

“Not as good as me.” 

“Nobody else on the team is as up their own arse as you, either.” Well, except maybe Ben. 

“Then I’ll be bringing that to the team too, won’t I?” Michael says. “What’s a football team without at least one arsehole on it?” Calum stares at him for a moment, takes in the curve of his lips, the dark, inky thickness of his eyelashes, the pretty sea-green of his eyes. 

“We don’t need any more players,” he says again, eventually. Michael grins at him. 

“Then why are you still talking to me?” he says, a little too shrewdly. 

“Why are you still here?”

“Because I want to beat you in a crossbar challenge,” Michael says, and Calum scoffs. He’s never lost a crossbar challenge in his life. 

“You can fucking dream,” he tells Michael, who just smiles, something a little too astute for Calum’s liking in his eyes. 

“D’you want to know what else you’re missing?” Michael says, taking a step closer to Calum. 

“Another way to tell you to get lost?”

“Someone who’ll suck your dick as a consolation prize when you lose a crossbar challenge to him,” he says, and swipes the ball out of Calum’s arm. 

Well, Calum thinks, eyes drawn to Michael’s pink lips, stretched out in a smile. He’s not sure how _anyone_ could say no to that. 


	20. "it's freezing in here"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum may not agree with much that comes out of Michael’s mouth, but when he steps back from the door, lets his hands drop to his side, turns to look at Calum and says: “This has got to be a fucking joke,” Calum can’t help but sigh and nod. 
> 
> “This doesn’t happen,” Michael says, glancing back at the door, looming big and grey and sterile over the two of them. “This does _not_ fucking happen in real life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “it’s freezing in here”

Calum may not agree with much that comes out of Michael’s mouth, but when he steps back from the door, lets his hands drop to his side, turns to look at Calum and says: “This has got to be a fucking joke,” Calum can’t help but sigh and nod. 

“This doesn’t happen,” Michael says, glancing back at the door, looming big and grey and sterile over the two of them. “This does _not_ fucking happen in real life.”

“No,” Calum agrees, because, well, it doesn’t. Getting locked in a walk-in freezer is something that only, and exclusively, happens in movies. Calum hadn’t even been sure whether walk-in freezers existed outside of films until this afternoon, which is how they’ve ended up in here, both he and Michael too curious about what the hell can be kept in a walk-in freezer besides, y’know, dead bodies, which seems to be the only thing they ever store in them in the movies.

“Maybe this is, like, some Truman Show kinda thing,” Michael suggests, and Calum throws him a glare. 

“I’m _not_ being the dead-body-in-the-walk-in-freezer in the movie of my _own life_ ,” he says, and Michael cocks his head. 

“Techically, the Truman Show was a TV show,” he points out, and Calum sighs again, letting exasperation leak into the edges of it this time. Of course it’s fucking _Michael_ he gets locked in a freezer with, the _one_ person who won’t take it seriously.

“I can’t believe I’m locked in a fucking freezer with _you_ ,” he tells Michael, who scowls. 

“What d’you mean, with _me?_ ” he demands, like there’s nothing more pressing to be focusing on right now. “You’d rather be locked in a freezer with _Luke?_ ” Well, no. Michael’s got a point there, but Calum’s not going to let him have it, not when he’s the one that got them locked in here in the first place. 

“I’d rather be locked in a freezer with Ashton,” he says, entirely truthfully, and Michael’s scowl turns petulant. “In fact, if I were with Ashton, we wouldn’t _get_ locked in a freezer, because Ashton’s not a fucking _idiot.”_

“You didn’t stop me,” Michael says stroppily, like it’s Calum’s fault he didn’t move at the speed of light to get his foot between the door and the doorjamb when Michael stepped away from the door and let it swing shut despite Calum saying _make sure you keep the door open, we don’t want to get locked in._

(“Locked in?” Michael had said, scoffing. “That only happens in movies.”)

“Try the door again,” Calum says, instead of the _you’re fucking unbelievable_ that’s on the tip of his tongue, and Michael rolls his eyes, taking another step back from it and gesturing at it with one hand. 

“ _You_ try the fucking door,” he says. “You’re the one who spends all your time at the gym.” 

“ _You’re_ the one who _shut_ the fucking door,” Calum counters. 

“I didn’t know it was going to _lock,_ ” Michael says, a touch defensively. 

“I _told_ you-”

“Well, I don’t _listen_ to you most of the time,” Michael says. Calum raises an eyebrow at him, looks pointedly at the door, and then back at Michael, who folds his arms. 

“Fuck you,” he says sullenly. “For the record, _I’d_ rather get stuck in a freezer with Ashton than you, too.” 

“Well, feel free to tell him that if we ever get out of here,” Calum says, pulling his thin coat closer around him. Fucking hell. They couldn’t have got locked in a hotel room or something, could they? Had to be a fucking freezer. 

“What d’you mean, _if?_ ” Michael says, frowning. “They’ll have to come looking for us, won’t they?”

“Will they?” Calum says, because honestly, if he were told Michael’s been locked in a walk-in freezer he’d probably just ring their tour manager and tell her he’s happy to go to the funeral as long as it doesn’t clash with any tour dates. Maybe they’ll come searching for Calum, though. Yeah, they’ll have to, won’t they? The band have still got a guitarist, with Luke out there, so Michael’s job is out the window, but they’ve got no bassist without Calum. 

“Ashton will,” Michael says confidently. “He’s not going to leave me in here with you alone.”

“Or leave himself out there with Luke alone,” Calum says, and Michael hums in assent. 

“It’s freezing in here,” he says, sliding to the floor with his back against one of the meat racks, and tipping his head back against it. Calum rolls his eyes, sitting down next to Michael, their arms and legs pressed together. 

“It’s a fucking freezer,” he says, and Michael brings his head back down just to throw him a glare. Calum doesn’t mind, though, lets the heat of his glare match the heat of his body pressed against Calum, warming him from the inside out. It wouldn’t even be a terrible way to die, Calum thinks, pressed up against Michael like this, just the two of them in a fucking walk-in freezer. 

“You’re warm,” Michael mumbles, like he knows what Calum’s thinking. Maybe he does; Calum’s not sure, sometimes. Sometimes Michael will give him what he needs before he even knows he needs it, like Calum’s heart is stored somewhere inside Michael’s soul. 

“For now,” Calum says pointedly, and Michael sighs, all heavy and long-suffering, making Calum grin. He puts his hand on Michael’s lap, though, lets it rest there, feeling the warmth of Michael’s skin through the rough denim of his jeans. Michael just hums, brings his own hand up to thread his fingers through Calum’s, squeezing gently and keeping their hands in his lap. 

“You think we’ll get an episode of Forensic Files on us when we die in here?” Michael asks, almost idly, and Calum huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d prefer CSI,” he says. 

“I don’t think they still make that,” Michael says. 

“They could do a one-off,” Calum says. “A Christmas special, or something.” Michael hums. 

“Just what you want while you’re getting your turkey out,” he says. “Watch two pretty young boys die in a walk-in freezer.”

“Young?” Calum says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a bit generous, for you.” 

“Hey,” Michael says, with a frown, but there’s a grin in his eyes, and Calum matches it with his own. 

“I’ll let you have pretty, though,” he says, and this time Michael’s frown is real, indignant and scornful. 

“‘Let me have’?” he echoes. “I’m fucking gorgeous, you dickhead.” 

“I know,” Calum says, and there’s a little more sincerity in his tone than he’d intended. It works, though, makes Michael stop abruptly in his tracks, eyes widening a little as he blinks over at Calum. 

“You think I’m pretty?” he says, and Calum shrugs. Of course he does. Michael’s the prettiest thing Calum’s ever seen. He’s travelled the world, stood on the shores of oceans and the tips of mountains, but the only sight he ever wants to return to is Michael. 

“Yeah,” he says, and Michael blinks, and then smiles, something so bright and brilliant and radiant that it makes Calum’s chest ache, to think that he put it there. 

“Oh,” Michael says, and Calum doesn’t think he’s ever heard Michael sound as happy as he does in that moment, the one syllable saturated in joy and contentment. Calum smiles, can’t help himself, squeezes Michael’s hand again, and says: 

“Pretty stupid for getting us locked in here.” 

(He deserves the cuff he gets upside the head, but their fingers tighten around each other even as Calum squawks and jerks away.)


End file.
